TMR - Death was once a human
by genghis01
Summary: AU - No Time Travel. Hermione is sent to live in the orphanage. Through a few disastrous events they form a friendship, perhaps even a brief childhood love. All that is shattered when Tom is accepted into Hogwarts. This short story spans into three parts, or chapters, each with a collection of segments. I've marked the story as complete, however, I might write a reprise/epilogue.
1. Childhood Beginnings

Childhood Beginnings

"Death was a living creature. Death was a man tormented by his past. Death was once a human."

― S.K.N. Hammerstone

I.

Hermione was ushered into the orphanage, a firm hand on her shoulder as she fought hard to stop sniffling. The lady looking down at her held a disapproving gaze, but it soon relented as she heaved a heavy sigh.

"Alright, alright. Bring her in." Mrs. Cole rustled back into Wool's Orphanage, sending the kids who hung around the staircase a disparaging look. "There have just been so many kids lately. Parents can't afford to feed them so they just dump them on our doorstep," she remarked, pensively, stoking the fire to life in the cold, abysmal room. "So what's the story with this one?"

"Ah," the officer said. His thumb brushed up against his knobby nose before falling to leaf through some papers. "Some men went into their homes and-" He broke off, glancing at the young girl, nine years old. She trembled as she stared into the flames that reached up and licked the blackened chimney. "So they robbed them - took everything. The parents were dentists, see? Their business was running to the ground but they still had just enough for..." He sighed. "People do horrible things." He finally let go of the little girl, and softer now, continued speaking, "They didn't even notice her. We barely did ourselves. She was hiding under the kitchen table."

"Poor thing," Mrs. Cole cooed, peering at the young child whose watery dark brown eyes were still fixed upon the flames. "Well, we can put her in a room with Amy. It'll be small, but Amy's a good girl, she'll look after her." She drew her head to the direction of the open door. "AMY!"

After a while, a little blonde girl more or less the same age as Hermione scuffled in. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Bring, er…" she hesitated, looking at the papers the officer had handed her, "Hermione to your room and get her set up."

The girl nodded, stepping forward and leading Hermione out by her small, sweaty hand. Hermione let Amy pull her through the house, listening as best she could in her state of extreme unhappiness.

"Here's our room." She pushed open the scuffed up wood door. "I sleep here," Amy indicated, plopping down on the bed to the right. Hermione looked over to the bed opposite. There were no sheets or pillows, just a mattress and some empty shelves. It was clear that it had been picked clean for some poor and unfortunate soul and Hermione realized that cruelly, as if by some twist of fate, this was home now.

II.

Hermione missed her mum and her dad. She fed another leaf of lettuce to Fluffy, the rabbit, who chewed it up unperturbed by the distressed admissions of the young human beside him. She told him her secrets, her trivial nothings, her longing for her books and old friends. She told him of Mr. Jepeppe, their old neighbor, who had let her borrow any book she liked and how after begging her parents for some of her own, she had received a stack of beautifully bound stories which she had cherished and formed a great pride in. Now they were gone.

One Saturday morning she wandered into Mrs. Cole's sitting room. Mrs. Cole set down her glass, fixing her glasses before smiling kindly at Hermione.

"Yes, dear?"

"Do you maybe," Hermione blurted out, "maybe have some books?"

Mrs. Cole stared at the anxious child, an odd expression settling over her sharply featured face. The child stared back determinedly.

"Well, you can ask some of the other children, can't you?" Mrs. Cole inquired, leaning forward with her fingers weaved together.

"Well, yeah," Hermione shifted uncomfortably, staring at the ground. She had indeed asked Amy if she had any, but was offered only reading magazines which Amy kept under her pillow. The only other person Hermione had befriended was Billy, who bashfully admitted that he disliked reading and didn't have a book to his name.

"Hmm," Mrs. Cole said, biting her lip. It did not come across to her that Hermione would enjoy even the dusty romance novels she kept on her nightstand, and besides, it didn't seem appropriate to be filling the head of a nine-year-old with such silly fantasies anyways. "Did you receive schooling before you arrived here?"

Hermione nodded a little overeagerly - the way children do.

"Alright," Mrs. Cole declared, getting up from her chair, "Well I think it's about time you get re-enrolled. I was meaning to call at the school soon anyways."

Hermione beamed and bounced up from her seat. Mrs. Cole tucked a wild curl behind the girl's ear, remembering fondly of her own childhood years when she'd come visit her uncle, who'd run the orphanage at the time. Every weekend, she and the other kids would play and it had been from that that she'd decided she wanted to run her own orphanage some day. It had been twenty years since then and the orphanage wasn't as happy a place as she'd remembered. Maybe it was the Depression, or perhaps just the putrefaction of her childhood wonder.

"Amy and the others will be back soon, I've got to alert the cook so she can start preparing supper!" Mrs. Cole said, swinging back into motion. She ushered Hermione out, following after her and hurrying down to the kitchens.

Hermione stumbled through the hallway when she caught sight of something through an open door. Light and spritely, she picked across the hallways to make sure she had seen it right. A little black book lay innocently on the tidy bedspread, calling out to her.

"You see these books?" Mr. Jepeppe had said, "Poised on these shelves? All of them just desire to be read - for their papers to be ruffled! All written to captivate, to trap you so you can't put them down for your life. Now, what do you say to that?"

Hermione had replied, eyes twinkling, "I'd say…" She thought for a moment, head cocked to one side. She then responded with a complete sincerity that made Mr. Jepeppe chuckle, "I'm going to read all of them."

Here, under the presence of _the book_ came her desire to oblige them again. She wanted to belong, feel wanted and loved. A child, that's all she was. Lonely, lost and suddenly invisible to the world. The book called to her.

'Mine,' she thought without really thinking and stepped forward to touch it. She stepped back. She tried a second time, and again, she drew back as if scalded. It was as if the room was shutting her out, sending a sharp pain through her body each time she tried to cross the threshold.

Frustrated, she glared at the frame of the door. She would try one more time. She closed her eyes and ran at the room, determined to reach the book. A new pain came and Hermione gasped as her leg struck the wood of the bed frame. She snatched the book up and held it to her chest. She let it fall open, marveling at the neat writing inside.

_Dec. 31, 1935_

_Tonight's my birthday. Everyone tries to forget, but **I know they know**. During breakfast, Mrs. Cole announced it at the table before handing me this book. There'll all scared of me, even her._

Hermione's sympathy for her blossomed in her chest (she thought it must have been a girl, at least judging by their handwriting). Perhaps they could be friends. The idea excited her. She was just about to close the diary when it was ripped out of her grasp.

"What are you doing here?" a black haired boy demanded angrily. "How did you get in?"

Something about the boy annoyed Hermione - perhaps it was his tone of voice - sounding so used to being given an answer. She stared up at the horrible, bratty, black haired boy, an angry frown forming at her lips. "The door was open."

Unsatisfied, the boy shoved her backwards and Hermione fell onto the pristinely made bed. From there, she glared daggers at her attacker, as she now so willfully chose to think of him. He shut the door hastily and fixed his dark, cold gaze back at her. Momentarily, Hermione felt the fire in hers slip as a chill was sent down her spine.

"What are you doing going through my things?" he commanded, eyes flickering to a wardrobe opposite to his bed. "Did Billy put you up to this? You can tell him he can't have them back."

"Have what back?"

His gaze darkened. "What _were_ you doing here, then?"

"I just wanted something to read," she said, crossing her arms.

"Did you find anything interesting?" he spat, maliciously.

Hermione hopped off the bed, walking past him. "Hardly. I'm leaving."

His hand grabbed her arm, spinning her around, but Hermione was expecting that and she kicked him in the shin to make him let go. She had reached the door with one hand ghosted over the knob when she was wracked with a sudden pain. She sunk to the ground and would've cried out had her whimpers not been shushed by a hand, which pressed against her mouth as the other wrestled to hold her still.

The pain that had been cast over her ceased. Hermione felt his breath against her ear. "You're scared of me too." He let go of her and, disturbed, she ran from the room.

III.

Hermione sat by Amy and Billy. She had looked to the very end of the table a couple of times, where the boy with black hair sat. He ate his dinner with a quiet restraint, as he had the night before.

"Who're you looking at, Hermione?" Amy asked. She looked over Hermione's bushy head then sank back down again. "That's Tom Riddle. Strange, isn't he?"

A sour expression washed over Billy's face. "He's not strange, he's foul. Don't let his looks fool you, Hermione."

Hermione looked up from her plate of food to find Billy staring at her. "I won't," Hermione said, laughing, "Gosh." Billy smiled. He had come to be something of a big brother to Hermione in the couple of days they had known each other.

"So I heard you're coming to school with us tomorrow."

"Mmhm," Hermione hummed, beaming. She stood up from the table, taking with her her bowl and glass. "Mrs. Cole said we'll all walk down to the school tomorrow morning and she'll fill out my papers."

She excused herself, walking into the kitchen and to the sink. Reaching up, she turned the faucet and started scrubbing at her plate. She lost herself in the dirty suds that collected there, watched the bubbles glisten, then pop.

Tom watched her, standing some feet away waiting for her to be done. He had pondered briefly the question of how she had managed to enter his room, but now, watching her before the sink, he came to the conclusion that there was nothing special about her. She was normal. He regarded the word with disdain.

Hermione put her dish away and turned around. Fear registered on her face, then suspicion, and finally dislike all in an instant. However, Tom appeared to be oblivious to her reaction of him and blank-faced, he went over to wash his own plate.

She left quickly with nothing to say. It had almost been as if he hadn't recognized her - had simply forgotten their encounter the day before. In fact, several months went by without him taking any notice of her at all and slowly, she followed suit. Then, one week into April, as the weather was transformed from its dreary mood by the warm breath of spring, everything changed.

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME," Billy shouted, his shrill panicked voice echoing across the courtyard. Hermione's head rose from her book. She ran to the window and peeking outside, she saw Billy with his finger pointed shakily at Riddle. Hermione concentrated hard, trying to make out Billy's far-away words. "YOU WERE SPEAKING TO IT! I SAW YOU!" He looked thoroughly freaked and sputtered once more, "YOU WERE… _SPEAKING TO IT!_"

Billy wiped the beads of sweat that had run down his face. "I see what you really are!" His look of horror turned into a charged look, and with a bout of courage, he fixed his eye upon something somewhere on the ground. Hermione squinted and saw a small green serpent rear its head up at all the commotion.

"Stop!" Tom yelled and Hermione couldn't stand there anymore. She leapt down the stairs and ran outside, looking up just in time to see Billy lift his foot from the snake. Riddle pushed him back, hard, causing Billy to fall on his butt, but it was too late. The serpent was dead. "You killed it," Tom said coldly. He glared at Billy then looked up and locked eyes with Hermione. She was breathing heavily, a little winded from the run down there, her eyebrows knitted together as she tried to catch her breath. She stared back at him.

"It was going to attack me!" Billy announced, defensively. "You were making it do things - talking to it!" Billy turned his head, noticing Hermione as he followed Riddle's line of sight. "It was going to attack me. You saw it, didn't you?"

"I-" Hermione stopped. She hadn't had a good look of things and her recollection of what she _had_ seen came in bits and pieces. "Maybe.. I'm not-"

"It was going to attack me," he stated again, standing up, "I wasn't just going to _let_ it attack me, so I defended myself." He looked at the lifeless green creature on the ground. "For all I know, it could've been poisonous."

"Yes, how very brave," Riddle sneered.

"Come on, Hermione, let's go," Billy said, scowling darkly.

Tom watched them go, an idea twisting in his head, bloody and writhing like Clementine had been as Billy had brought his foot down one time after another. He would have his revenge - perhaps tomorrow, perhaps the day after. He grinned wickedly. Perhaps...

IV.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Billy fidgeted, frustrated at Hermione's silence. "I didn't want to kill it. I was just… scared. Believe me, Hermione."

Hermione sat on the bed, hugging her pillow guiltily. "I do, I just think you should apologize - even if it was an accident." She stared up at him with her troubled brown eyes.

Billy's lips thinned into a grimace. "I suppose. I'll do it first thing tomorrow morning. There now, happy?"

In response she broke out into a toothy grin, beaming at him devilishly. Billy stared down at her fondly, glad she had finally gotten out of her mood. He had really no intention of apologizing to that… _freak_, but he knew Hermione was upset and he couldn't think of any other way to get back to her annoying, curious self again. But he liked her that way.

He wished her goodnight, heading down the hall to his own room as the lights were being switched off. It was her curiosity that put him in awe. The way her eyes would shine as she turned another page of **the bloody textbook**! Billy had never liked reading, but he liked when she'd read to him. He had tried reading more after that, fumbling through words that hammered painfully in his head. After a few minutes of it, however, he would fling it aside, feeling stupid. _What did she see in those books of hers anyways? What made them so special?_

Slowly, he fell asleep thinking these things.

Hermione skipped down to breakfast the next day to find the room in a state of confusion. Amy was sniffling, deep sobs wracking her body as she cried into Mrs. Cole's shoulder. Billy hung around her awkwardly, asking her question after question. No one seemed to know why she was in tears.

Finally, she settled down a bit and Mrs. Cole murmured softly, "What is it, Amy? Why don't you tell me what it is and we can go fix it?"

"Can't," Amy choked, her face wet with tears.

"Mrs. Cole!" one of the younger boys interrupted urgently, "You have to come outside, **_now_**."

Peeling Amy off of her, Mrs. Cole rushed outside with everyone following closely behind her. Everyone was confused first, not knowing what the young boy called them out there for. Then, he pointed up and Mrs. Cole shrieked. There, up on the rafters, hung Fluffy, upside-down and limp, waving slightly against the wind. Hermione's thoughts reeled in her head. Who could have done such a thing? As the question gripped her, an answer rolled off her tongue. "Riddle," she muttered, tasting bile - as if his very name were poison.

She ran back into the house, ignoring the wails of the other children. She pushed open the door, bursting into the room with a loud exclamation of, "You!"

Riddle stood up, tucking his book into his pocket, looking pleasantly surprised. "Me," the boy stated, amused, taking a step toward her.

_SLAP!_ A bright red mark appeared on his cheek. Hermione balled her hand into a fist, but Riddle caught it this time, smiling. "Now, Hermione, there's no need for _violence_." He stared down at her innocently.

"How _dare_ you!" Hermione felt anger bubble through her. She struggled wildly and nearly got the better of him, but his grip on her arm tightened as he braced her like a vice.

He adopted a face of _genuine_ concern. "How dare I what, Hermione? You may want to be more particular with your words." This earned him another slap as Hermione managed to break his hold on her arm momentarily. "Would you stop hitting me?" Riddle laughed.

The sound made Hermione coil back and Tom let go of her. "Why do you do that? What's wrong with you?"

"Do what?"

"Laugh like that. Smile like that," she said, gritting her teeth, "How can you? It was just a rabbit and you..." Hermione looked frantically away, the words stuck in her throat.

Riddle tutted. "Hermione, are you feeling unwell? Would you like to sit down?"

Hermione exhaled sharply, not believing the silly charade Tom was putting on. He knew she knew! And he knew she knew he knew! Yet he kept the charade going. Tom was grinning widely, looking like a child who had received a new toy and marveling at her frustrated pout.

He stepped towards her until they were toe to toe. He brought his angelic face close to hers, wonder etched on a soft smile. "You know, if the excitement from today's events has made you unwell, I'd be happy to accompany you to the infirmary. In fact, why don't we go pay our condolences to Billy while we're down there, together?"

She pushed him away and stared daggers at him before disappearing out the door. Riddle smiled fondly at the game. Little did she know, his revenge was far from over. He decided he had not finished taking from little Billy Stubbs. He smiled at how naive of her it was to think so.

V.

Billy scrubbed angrily at his vocabulary worksheet. "Billy, it's not my fault." He continued to ignore her. Hermione stayed quiet for a few moments before saying delicately, "There's no 'j' in religious." He blushed ruby red, rubbing out the word hastily before continuing with his writing exercises. "I, o, u, s, Billy."

"Oh right, for a second there I forgot. You're better than the rest of us."

"Billy-" Amy started, reproachfully.

"But I'm right, aren't I?" Billy sneered.

"Hermione, come on," Amy said, tugging at Hermione, "He doesn't mean it." She successfully led her out of the room, but not before Hermione caught Billy scoff at Amy's reassurance.

Hermione felt herself becoming teary eyed. "He hates me."

"No, Hermione," Amy pleaded, "He's just angry you've been moved out of our class. He'll come around. He's Billy."

"You kids ready for school?" Mrs. Cole hummed, walking across to them carrying a bundle of clean sheets.

"Yes, Mrs. Cole," Hermione muttered into the back of her hand, miserable.

The children walked to school together, book bags slung over their shoulders Billy stormed on, ahead of everyone else, bitter over the school's decision to switch Hermione to a higher level class.

"Well look at him," a voice muttered in her ear, "Strutting ahead like an over-grown peacock."

"Shut up, Riddle."

He edged in front of her, walking backwards to face her. "Come on, Hermione. I'm sorry about last week." Hermione glared at him, at the seriousness of his countenance. "Really, Hermione, you must forgive me."

"Must I?" Hermione puffed, trying to dodge past him.

He stopped before her, forcing her to an exasperated halt, her book bag bumping painfully against the crook of her knees. "Please, Hermione. What I said was tasteless. I'm really sorry."

Hermione tried to walk past him again, but he countered her movement. She stared up at him, nose crinkled as she crossed her arms over her chest. "_Really?_" she bit out, voice dripping in disbelief. Tom nodded earnestly, but Hermione continued to eye him with suspicion. "I don't believe you," she snapped, walking past him. Tom blinked, surprised, before a dark look passed over his face. He watched her go, eyeing her through slitted eyes as she caught up to Amy and some of the other girls from the orphanage. For the game to work, she had to trust him. It wasn't as simple as Tom hoped. She had refused to be melted by smiles or angel-faced lies.

The black haired boy watched as she said goodbye to Amy, splitting away to disappear into a classroom. Tom walked in behind her, setting his things down on the desk next to hers. He pretended to listen as the teacher droned on, watching amusedly as Hermione gazed in bright-eyed admiration, hooked on the teacher's every word.

He smiled as he listened to her eagerly answering one of the problems on the board. He had been wrong, he regretfully had to admit, she was special, like him - in some way or another. At the very least she was intelligent. He knew she'd be useful some day, that is, if he ever got her to let her guard down around him.

Class was over with the scraping of chairs as students hastened to leave the dreary building. Riddle gathered his things and waited outside the door for Hermione, who was still talking animatedly to the teacher. Finally, she exited through the frame that held up the derelict and decay surrounding them. The happy look in her eyes dropped away at the sight of him and she began walking again.

"Hermione," Tom greeted, falling in alongside her. "Here, let me carry that for you." Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Tom already had her book bag in tow. "How'd you like class?"

Hermione's mouth twisted, as if unsure of whether to answer. Finally, after several moments' hesitation, she replied, "So much." Flustered, she blundered forward, unable to hold back her enthusiasm, "Mr. Carr is such a good teacher and science is so interesting. He let me borrow some of his books too!" She lifted the flap of her book bag to show him, a small smile playing at her lips.

They walked together the rest of the way, discussing their favorite subjects, books, and school. Hermione rambled on about a book her parents had gotten her for her birthday and Tom told Hermione about the different teachers that taught at Vintry Ward Charity School.

She tucked a strand of hair back, behind her ears as she chatted happily, unaware of much outside the conversation. She didn't notice the way he sized her up or how he smirked as he noticed Billy's sour face.

When she said goodbye to the boy with black hair she was in a considerably better mood than she had been this morning. She went to sit down at the table next to Amy and Billy, who were sitting there whispering to each other.

"Would you look at that. It's _her_."

"Billy!" Amy pleaded.

"What, finally done talking with your _precious_ Riddle?"

"What are you talking about, Billy?"

"I warned you about him," Billy said, shaking.

"Billy, come on, stop it," Amy murmured.

"You know what he did! He murdered Fluffy and you don't even care! He's a _freak_." Billy stood up from the table. "I thought you had some sense, Hermione. Maybe I was wrong."

Hermione bit her tongue. Billy had been cross with her, and she was sick and tired for being blamed for doing nothing. She willed the tears that had welled in her eyes from falling and retreated into her room, pretending to be asleep when Amy came in to announce that supper was ready.

VI.

"She's out to get me," Hermione insisted, pushing Riddle playfully as he chuckled, "Stop laughing! I'm serious! She's been doing it on purpose."

"What, Harding?" Riddle mused, "I think you're exaggerating things a bit, don't you?"

"No! She's horrible! The only reason you don't see it is because she thinks you're an angel." Hermione stood up from under the oak tree where they had been sitting. It was nice outside, spring had turned into summer, and term had ended.

"You're just bitter that a teacher likes me better than you."

Hermione ignored this, rolling her eyes. "I'm just glad I don't have to spend any more of my Thursdays learning how to sew and cook and all proper things like that."

Riddle got up too and they went inside together. Walking through the kitchen, Hermione saw Billy and Amy. She smiled to them and waved, before going up the stairs with Riddle.

When they were finally upstairs, Riddle spoke. "You're still friends with them."

"I know you don't like them, but they're my friends, Riddle, and you've got to be nice to them."

"They don't like me."

"Yeah, well I didn't like you either at first," Hermione responded, stubbornly. Flipping through one of Tom's books.

"And now you do?" Tom grinned. He snickered inwardly. It had taken a while, but it had been easy. She fell under his spell, regardless of Billy's warning. Trying to hide his excitement, he went on with an air of cautiousness, "He's jealous you know. Have you ever seen the way he looks at you?"

"Jealous?" Hermione giggled, unconcerned, "No, Billy is just trying to look out for me."

"Oh really? Is that why he glares at me every time I'm with you?" Riddle challenged. "He likes you."

Hermione shook her head. "You're being ridiculous, Riddle. Billy's like an older brother. Besides, what's there to be jealous of anyways? We're only friends."

Tom's lips tightened. It didn't bother him, so why he even reacted at all was slightly disconcerting. He watched her turn the page, no longer interested in the subject. Leaning back on the headboard, he stared at the pages of the book as she turned them periodically.

"Hermione."

"Hmm?" she hummed, absentmindedly, before tearing her eyes from the page to look at him.

The boy with the black hair smirked. "Nothing," he settled on saying, resting his head against hers. She went back to reading and Riddle watched drowsily as she continued to turned the pages.

Hermione marked her place in the book. Darkness had snuck up on them and making out the words on the paper had become increasingly difficult. Riddle murmured something in his sleep and Hermione turned her head, looking at him fuss in his sleep. She tried to make out meaning from his soft hissing. There was something she liked about Riddle - something special about him that she didn't understand. Quite on accident, she let her groggy eyes slide closed and her mind wandered away from logic and reason. And in that blank space of darkness, the summer went by, happy and unaware of its slow, inevitable end.


	2. The Beginning of our Ruin

**The Beginning of our Ruin**

"I was five and he was six, We rode on horses made of sticks,

He wore black and I wore white, He would always win the fight.

Bang bang, he shot me down. Bang bang, I hit the ground.

Bang bang, that awful sound. Bang bang, my baby shot me down."

― Nancy Sinatra

I.

"Riddle!" Hermione ran up the staircase yelling, giddy with excitement, "Riddle the fair's in town today!" She hardly noticed the bearded old man descend the staircase past her. She found Tom sitting on his bed, thinking deeply. She crept up next to him, beaming brightly. "Did you hear what I said? Well? You promised me you'd go with me."

He gazed up at her, coldly. "I don't have time. I have more important things I need to attend to."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm sure, but you promised."

"I said I don't have time," Riddle snapped, getting up from the bed, and Hermione flinched.

"Fine, I'll just go with Amy and Billy then." She muttered, hurt, and hopped off the bed, but Riddle had long since ceased to pay attention. He was caught up with the conversation he had just had with _Professor_ Dumbledore. In his head, he repeated the painful revelation proudly. _I knew it. I knew I was special - knew it all along; said it to myself every day._

He went to the busy shopping district of London the next morning. Stepping through the brick wall, he became convinced there was a better world. He left the orphanage behind, let it disappear with her in it.

She cried for a week and then he was gone, gone off to his fancy private school. Amy tried to comfort her, drew her up close and muffled her sniffles against her shoulder. "He was never any good, Hermione. I know you didn't see that, but believe me. You're better off."

"She's right, Hermione," Billy told her. He stared at the girl, watched her peer up at him through red, puffy eyes. When he first met her, he had had a small crush on her, but regardless of his extinguished feelings now, it still broke his heart to see her like this. He and Amy watched as she retreated into her studies, hid herself behind her books as if she didn't want to be aware of the world that was passing around her.

When he came home for winter break she didn't speak to him - not that he noticed. He was in his room all day. It wasn't just her; a strange change had taken place in Riddle. He didn't bother with anyone at the orphanage anymore.

On the last day before returning to his school, she saw him as he appeared before her in the hall. He was wearing his school uniform and at the sight of her he hesitated for a moment, then fixed his sleeve and looked past her. When he headed for the stairway she spoke up. "Were you ever going to say anything to me? Did you even think of writing?"

Tom looked momentarily surprised. Then he smiled. "You missed me, did you?"

Hermione glared. "So why'd you come back?"

Riddle smirked. "Had to. School policy." He watched her countenance darken as she turned away. She had never been able to control her emotions like he could. He sneered. She was simple in that way, common like the muggle she was, and weak. He had tried his hardest these past two weeks not to sully with the filth. They were different from him, and now he knew why.

That summer, Tom didn't come back. He had written saying he had been invited over for the summer to stay with the Malfoys. Inevitably, he wasn't there to witness Dumbledore approach the front steps to Wool's orphanage, letter in hand, to meet Mrs. Cole for the second time in two years.

II.

"Come here with me," Riddle said, looking slightly alarmed. He grabbed her by the arm and brought her into the empty compartment. "What are you doing here? Why didn't you tell me?"

Hermione crossed her arms. "Well why would I? It's really none of your business."

"But this is great!" Riddle breathed, elated. "This changes everything." Hermione watched him, disbelievingly. She bit her lip, reigning in the look of disgust that threatened to taint her features as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have some fol-" he caught himself, then changed direction, carrying on, "_friends_ waiting for me in our compartment. Why don't you come sit with us?"

Hermione frowned, bothered by Riddle's uncanny ability to make an order sound like a polite request. "Again, _why?_" Riddle hesitated for a moment, then adopted an air of playfulness.

"If you're still mad about me not writing-" He caught the glint of hatred in her eye. "Very well. You can be upset at me all you like, Hermione. And when you get bored of that you can come join me in our compartment." He gently placed his lips over hers, chuckling as she pushed him away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

When he had left, Hermione stayed in the compartment for a good long while. _Nothing has changed at all,_ she thought, frustratedly, _Tom's still an ass. Well maybe he's always been that way. I have magic too now but I should have known. How pathetic of me,_ she cursed herself for her own stupidity, _to believe we might be friends like we were back then..._

She sighed and picked up her things. Pulling her trunk behind her, she found a couple of other first years who were playing some game - magical, where the little pieces on the board squirted some foul liquid at you when you missed a point - and joined them.

III.

_\- Two Years Later -_

Tom watched her walking through the opposite end of the hall, smothered by that McKinnon boy. He didn't know why she kept him around; he was loud, irritating, obnoxious - the epitome of _Gryffindor._

He was a fourth year now and she was in third. They didn't speak, hardly crossing paths, and when they _did_ one would smirk and the other, glare. It was a simple formula, one they followed seamlessly, and the result was that they had managed to go two years like this. Not talking. _Not looking at each other - or at least getting caught at it._

It had thrown him when the hat called out Gryffindor, he now admitted begrudgingly. He had sat there coldly, the lion house name stuck in his throat as the cheers from her new housemates thrummed in his ears. He had no reason to be surprised, but the thought of her getting put into any house besides his own had completely escaped his mind. And she hated him now, he knew. That was fine with him, he convinced himself. He was better off to do as he pleased.

She didn't matter right now anyways. _Not yet_, he steeled himself. He would become the most powerful wizard in the world and by then she'd be begging to have him back.

"My Lord." Riddle turned, but it was only Abraxas and Abraxas already knew of his shame. Mudblood that she was, he couldn't get her off his mind.

"Yes, call the meeting," Riddle said, absentmindedly. "Tell everyone I've found the chamber. It has begun."

IV.

"Come on, Hermione," McKinnon whined in her ear. She kept her pace, determined to make it to class on time regardless of Jack's nagging. "Everyone in our house will be there celebrating and you're just going to work on homework! A bit lame, wouldn't you think?"

"Jack McKinnon!" Hermione arrived at the classroom. "I will kick your bloody arse if you don't stop going on about that stupid party."

"Hermioneeeee," Jack pled, sitting down at the table with her. "We never have any fun. It's all study, study study! _Oh Jack! It's the sopophorous bean! Watch it counteract the underperforming latencies! My God, do you see that Jack? The color change means that-_"

"I _do not_ sound like that!" Hermione exclaimed and Jack snorted.

"Fine! Go on to become the crazy old cat lady you've cursed yourself to be," Jack said, holding his head up before turning slyly and sticking out his tongue, "But don't say I didn't warn you."

Hermione scowled at him, flipping open her textbook as the rest of the class filed in. Jack was that rowdy boy she had met first day on the train. He had been playing gobstones with the other students when she had entered their compartment. Being horrible at it, Jack lost many times, eventually getting an eyeful of the putrid liquid.

_'Here,' Hermione had said, taking out her wand. 'Now sit still.' She cast the charm which she had read about that summer going over her textbooks and the icky liquid disappeared._

_'Oh, thanks uh-'_

_'Hermione,' she answered with a shy lopsided grin, tucking her hair behind her ear._

"Erm, Hermione. Don't look now, but Riddle just came in." Hermione snapped out of her reminiscence and glared at her textbook.

"So?" Hermione muttered.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't be so quick to dislike him. Look, I don't know what happened between you two but he's always looking at you and stuff. I think he might like you or something."

Hermione laid her arms on the desk and rested her head against them. She didn't want to talk about it with Jack let alone argue with him. She sighed internally. Riddle really had them all fooled and Jack was too kind to think badly of anyone. It wasn't fair.

She had tried to talk to Jack about it once and he had chalked it up to some childhood quarrel she had never let go of. _'I dunno,'_ _Jack had said, scratching his head,_ _'He always seems so polite. And you did say he invited you to his compartment when he saw you on the train. I mean, people change you know..'_

Her expression hardened. And of course, it had been just her luck that Slughorn had chosen Riddle to be his teacher's assistant for the potion course. Tom usually just sat in the corner working diligently grading papers while the students brewed their potions. Today, however, was different.

"Excellent," Slughorn exclaimed, staring into Hermione's cauldron, "But of course, I didn't expect anything less from you, Miss Granger."

"Thanks, Professor."

"Now, I've been wondering, Miss Granger, when you're planning on attending to one of my little soirees. Still too busy with schoolwork?" Slughorn questioned, frowning slightly. "Of course, it wouldn't hurt to live a little now and then, eh?"

"Well Professor-"

"Tom, m' boy!" Slughorn called, cutting Hermione off to her annoyance, "Tom, come here and tell Miss Granger how you enjoy our little parties. Perhaps _you_ will convince her to attend our soiree next Saturday."

Hermione cringed as she watched Tom stand up and walk over. Slughorn looked over at Tom gleefully. Tom cleared throat, hesitating as he looked back at an uncomfortable Hermione before reciting politely, "They're quite enjoyable; there's food and refreshments and good music. If that's not enough to draw your attention from your schoolwork, some renowned scholars will be there as well."

"Well, Miss Granger!" Slughorn said, hands resting on his giant belly, "There you have it! Hmmm, Tom, why don't you escort her there?"

Tom's eyes darkened and a smile stretched over his face. "If that is what you wish, Professor, I'd be happy to escort Miss Granger."

"Ah, good chap," Slughorn spoke merrily, humming as he walked away on the balls of his feet, "My two top students."

"Wait! Professor!" Hermione called after Slughorn. Her nails ground into her palms as her hands formed tight fists.

Tom smirk down at her. "See you Saturday, Hermione."

V.

Tom made his way down to the Gryffindor common room. He was interested in seeing how this would all play out. He wasn't blind to what Slughorn had been trying to do. He chuckled hollowly. Slughorn would always meddle with matters that didn't concern him. Tom sighed. It had been an unexpected move - one that threw off his plans a little. At least he could keep an eye on her tonight of all nights. The _Basilisk.._

He stepped through the portrait hole to greet Hermione, halting at the sight of her curled up in an armchair, her nose stuck in some book. Tom didn't recognize the title and realized it must be written by a muggle. He sneered, walking up to her from the side and plucking the book from her hands.

"What's this?" he said, leafing through it, "A storybook? A bit juvenile don't you think?"

"Give that back!" Hermione spat, jumping up. _How dare he_, she thought, leering up at him. She reached for the book, but Tom just turned away, eyes scanning the text.

_"A full moon in her fourteenth, a face of a pigeon, a mouthful fit for kings, a jewel; he beheld, in fact, a being that made him lose his senses: and looking at her, he said, 'Now mayest thou hide thyself, O goddess of love: and thou, Helen, mayest return to Illium and put a rope round thy neck, as thy beauties, so much descanted, are as nought compared with this beauty by my side, beauty accomplished like a sun, worthy a throne, solid, graceful, and full of pride, wherein I cannot find a single blemish…'_" Tom recited, eyes dancing away from the text to bore into Hermione's, "_'O beautiful eyes that burn me! O sweet lips that give me such joy!'_"

Hermione's eyes narrowed at his mocking recitation and she felt the lines she loved turn to ash from the insincerity of it. It had taken her ages to track down a copy of Giambattista Basile's _Pentamerone_ and she had held it dear to her heart. The darling book had been Mr. Jeppepe's favorite and sometimes he had read a few stories out of it. She snatched it out of Tom's grasp and tucked it away in her bag.

"Let's just go," Hermione growled, brushing past him and disappearing out of the portrait hole.

Tom caught up with her, easily matching her pace. "What's the hurry, Hermione? _It's almost as if you're trying to avoid me._"

He watched her brow tick, clearly annoyed and tense like a drawn bow, pulled back, suspended. He enjoyed torturing her like this; how pretty she looked when she was furious. "Perhaps your presence repels me, Riddle."

"So you still haven't forgiven me," Riddle stated gently. They had reached the doors to Slughorn's gathering, the muffled music sounding from inside. "That's too bad because-" he said, holding her back by the arm before she could run off, "because I've left you alone these past few years, but you were naive to think that was going to last. We could be like we used to."

"Ha, _right_," Hermione said. She pushed him away and started into the room. _He's gone fucking insane_. Ducking Slughorn, she rearranged herself behind a niche in the wall, watching Tom pass into the crowd.

He cast his eyes about. She had slipped through her fingers - as elusive as ever. Finally, his eyes found hers and he watched as she froze. _Oh, Hermione. You can run..._

VI.

Hermione tore through the crowd, tears pricking her eyes. _What's happening?_ Through the gaps between the heads of the students who had crowded on the corner of the seventh floor hallway, Hermione saw a dark figure lying stiffly on the ground. _No._

"I suppose you have all heard by now. Of Jack McKinnon. He's currently in the hospital wing in a state of petrification," Tom said, twirling his wand, "That was just a test. The real cleansing has yet to beginning."

"And the basilisk, my Lord?" Lestrange asked.

"Under my control. It won't kill unless ordered to," Tom hissed at Lestrange's insolence. "Which hopefully won't happen.. unless it becomes absolutely necessary. We just need to scare the mudbloods into leaving the school."

Lestrange scoffed and Tom narrowed his eyes. Lestrange was becoming a bit of a problem - always questioning his authority. "But why McKinnon? His blood is pure. You've thrown the plan by targeting him and for what? Why on earth did you choose him?"

"Tsk, tsk. That doesn't concern you, does it, Lestrange? You're just a puppet in this; a wooden, hollow nothing controlled by the strings of greater intention," Tom said, eyes flashing. He pressed his wand to Lestrange's temple and a bead of sweat ran down his opponent's neck. "Does that make sense to you, or do I have to demonstrate?"

Lestrange grit his teeth. "No, my Lord. I-I understand."

He looked coldly down at Lestrange. _Pathetic._

Dismissing them, he left to go down to the hospital wing. He stopped at the doorway to see Hermione curled up in a chair beside McKinnon's bedside. His eyes darkened. He was glad it had been McKinnon; had relished the whispered order to his little pet to attack. His only regret was that he hadn't killed the boy.

VII.

"The whole school's talking about the attacks. The Bulstrodes are even taking bids on who's next. I say we get that mudblood Granger," Lestrange drabbled on, loudly. Abraxas flinched and he glanced over at Tom, whose eyes flashed menacingly. Could Tom actually have feelings for that... that mudblood whore? He didn't think Tom was capable - had thought it only a passing obsession. And then Tom had went after McKinnon. Lestrange had been right. Tom was losing his grip. _Hmm_, Abraxas contemplated, _perhaps he would have to take matters into his own hands._

Abraxas found her hidden among the shelves of books, surrounded by a few stacks she had already gone through and those she had chosen for later. Dark bags shadowed her eyes, which blinked, desperate for sleep.

She flipped open Mysterious Maladies and Miraculous Cures by Sevigne Grozda and found the section she was looking for. _Petrification_, she read, _Victims of petrification are paralysed and unmovable, and seem to be unconscious. The petrified victim appears to enter rigor mortis instantaneously and remains that way, while a dead person enters, and leaves it, within a normal timeframe._ Hermione sighed. This was nothing she hadn't already read, but she continued anyways, _The only effective remedy for petrification is a draught made of Mandrake roots. If the mandrake elixir is not administered before the victim's status defers to instability, the victim may die or never recover._

The text glared at her. _The Mandragora plant has been used since ancient times as a medicinal plant and is traditionally associated with magical activities. It is a member of the nightshade family. It contains hyoscyamine, scopolamine, and mandragorin._

"But of course! They're all anticholinergics." Hermione's mind raced. _That must mean whatever is petrifying the students is attacking them through their parasympathetic nerve system_, she thought, _But that can't be. Besides being petrified, there were no other damages inflicted. Nothing marked the target organs associated with the parasympathetic nerve system_. She closed the book, tired, remembering how Tuesday nights didn't used to be like this, but she had hope. Smiling, she gathered her things and left the library.

Abraxas watched her go, hovering between the Astronomy and Ancient Runes sections. _If I let this continue_, Abraxas determined, _Everything will be ruined.._

VIII.

Hermione's eyes widened. It had to be a basilisk. Suddenly, it all made sense. Why else would the victims be left without any visible wounds on their bodies? _It must have attacked them by looking into their eyes and petrifying them_, Hermione thought, racing up to the headmaster's office. She was in such a hurry that she didn't even see where she was going.

_WHAM!_ Hermione looked up to see Abraxas Malfoy glaring down at her. "You better watch where you're going, mudblood." He brought his wand up to her throat so fast that it jabbed her painfully, causing her to gasp and choke out. "Wouldn't want to run into any trouble, now would we?"

Hermione's hand twitched for her own wand and Abraxas spat a hex at her. stumbling backwards, she hit a large urn that sat conspicuously against a dull tapestry, and at the same time her senses began to dull. Feeling drowsy, she grabbed at the ugly fabric, tearing it from its hangings before passing out on the cold stone floor of the hallway.

Abraxas levitated her away, directing her body ahead of him to the girl's bathroom where he let her fall unceremoniously down by his feet. _Hyahhssspashesin_, Malfoy attempted, mimicking the sound he had heard Riddle make the night he unveiled the chamber to the knights. Nothing happened. _Hyahshhassesinh_, he tried again, and after nervously staring at the sink, the ground started to shake and the fixtures began to sink down and reveal a large opening to the bottom of which the chamber lay waiting. From deep within came a sickening hiss and Abraxas swallowed the lump in his throat before pushing the unconscious Hermione into the dark chute, watching her tumble away into the blackness.

When Hermione woke she found herself surrounded by darkness. What had happened? She didn't know. She held her head painfully, stumbling to her feet, and as she did, she stepped on some animal bones, causing them to crack. They were everywhere, to her horror, and she found herself growing frantic. Where was she?

IX.

Tom flew down the length of the chamber. In the labyrinth below the dungeons lay Salazar's legacy and somewhere inside, Hermione as well. He needed to find her. _Hrassssga_, he hissed, letting the order reverberate through the chamber, _Kraga, ssirahh siddr._

Out from the bowels of the chamber came his reply. _You called?_ she asked, the coils of her body flowing out from the shadows.

_What have you done?! Where is she?_ he snarled, _You haven't killed her have you?_

_Not yet_, she laughed, _but soon. Her blood is impure._

_Leave the girl alone._ _If you continue on like this they'll go after you and I won't stop them._

_Hmmm,_ she said, her body undulating in waves so that she was face to face with him. _Even if that is so, they'll find out anyways. The girl will tell them everything. She will expose the both of us__._

_This is not a request. I am the heir-_

_Which is why_, she interrupted, _I must do it. Your time with the sullied has blinded you to her. You think she has a place in the world Salazar envisioned? I must do this for you and ensure the bloodline is not.. diluted even further._

_How dare you?_ Tom hissed. He pulled out his wand, not pointing it at her, but using it to demonstrate his displeasure. The basilisk laughed and turned her back on him, about to head back into the tunnels. _Stop!_ he yelled, a spell shooting past the basilisk and striking the wall before her. She swivelled around, tongue flickering angrily as she leered down at the man before her.

_I don't want to hurt you, young master, but the work of Salazar must be done._

X.

Tom pressed her face with gentle kisses, relieved. She was safe, her eyes still squeezed shut as he held her in his arms. His eyes fell to the deep gash in her arm. "Did it do this to you?" Tom pressed her, imperative.

She shook her head weakly, her heart beating out of her chest. "I cut myself on one of bones when I was trying to hide. What are you- what are you doing down here? There's a basilisk, Tom, it's been attacking the students. You need to get out of here. Find one of the teachers and get help, quickly."

Tom felt anger course through his body. _What had Abraxas done?_ He scooped Hermione up, carrying her past the chamber hall. "You can open your eyes," he said, reaching the chute, "The basilisk is dead. I killed it."

XI.

Sun streamed in from the blinds, catching at the dust in the air which swam languidly in the golden light. It swirled slowly around the pair - a boy and a girl - its thickness and fluidity the only indication of the passing seconds that continued to fold in on themselves.

The office door of the hospital wing opened, the matronly woman stepping out for her round of check-ups. She stopped before the bed, regarding the two sedately before approaching the young man who had fallen asleep in his chair.

"Mister Riddle," she said, gently waking him, "Visiting hours end in fifteen minutes."

She left to check on the other patients and Tom looked over to see Hermione lift herself up to sit against her pillow. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Yes," Tom replied, "The nurse said it was probably from exhaustion and stress."

"Oh yeah," she murmured, stiffly. "Is the basilisk really dead?"

"Yes," he assured her. "And they've incarcerated Abraxas for opening the chamber and setting Slytherin's monster on the muggleborn students. We saw him being dragged from our common room, wand snapped in half and everything. The school is safe now."

Tears sprung to her eyes, her body shaky with relief. "I'm glad. He deserves it."

Tom let his gaze wander to the window where the whomping willow swayed gently - as if it were harmless. He could never tell her. She would hate him forever and he had just gotten her back.

"Tom?"

His eyes flickered back to her.

"What happened to us? How did we end up hating each other?"

Tom observed her. Finally, he unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and answered softly, "I left you. It's what the Riddles in my family do."

"You're here now," she spoke, after a moment's silence. "We could- I don't know," Hermione broke off, looking around the hospital wing as if hoping to find the end of her sentence.

Riddle weaved his fingers into hers. "Okay."

The sun began to set on the castle, though the birds sprang from the treetops as if unaware that the day was drawing to an end. The buzz of students that had congregated in the Great Hall to watch the going of Abraxas Malfoy had since dispersed and many had retreated back into the dormitories.

_'I heard it was a basilisk_,' one student whispered to another, stepping through the portrait hole.

_'A basilisk?_' the other replied, cynically, _'And where'd you hear that, Woods? You'd believe anything.'_

They retreated to their dormitories, bickering, but not unhappy. The basilisk had been slaughtered and Hogwarts was safe again. Inside the castle, the monster sat next to her hospital bed. All was well.


	3. Death's Return

**Death's Return**

I.

_Present Time - January 1946_

She didn't know what had happened to Tom. She didn't care, putting the book in its place on the shelf. She didn't care, walking back to sit behind the front desk. She didn't care and flipped through the catalogue as she tapped her pen against the counter top. Everything had gotten so terribly messed up.

Soon it was time to go and she flipped the sign on the front door from 'open' to 'closed'. Walking down to the bus stop, she tugged at her jacket to keep warm. It was a nice little town edging on boring but it was also free of magic and that was what Hermione had settled on after-

Well. After her soul had been burnt black by the things she'd done. The things she'd done for him. And so she had decided to do without. Her wand was kept in the little night stand by her bed. Snug. The bus moved forward and she stared at the window. It was going to be a long ride.

_Two Years Earlier_

Amy paraded up the street, clutching tightly to the arm of which a blonde haired boy was attached. _How lucky_ she thought herself to be. She surveyed the passersby coolly, hiding the excitement underneath, trying to suppress her frantically beating heart. _Missus Amy Bishop._ To be fair, it had a nice ring to it.

Of course, he hadn't proposed... yet. He had expressed to her his misery of not yet having enough earnings to buy a proper wedding band for her. _It was what she deserved_, he said, _Their love, meanwhile, would have to be enough._ And she ate up every ounce of affection because she knew she would be happy.

She felt an overwhelming harmony sweep through her and beamed up at him, noticing how the wind tossed his hair messily atop his head. And he was hers. He had been lucky - had an apprenticeship at the medicinary and with his earnings was saving up for a small flat on the edge of town which he had an eye on. What enticed her further was his promise to take her with him.. _eventually._

_Good things come to those who wait_, she said to herself. It was one of those things they told you at school, or in church. One of those sayings that seemed true enough at the start and then - and then left you waiting.

"Denny," she said, reaching up with her free hand to preen her boyfriend's disheveled hair, "We should be getting back. Hermione's coming home tomorrow and I have to tidy away my things. Gosh, I've missed her… and I still have to tell her all about you and I and all that." Her eyebrows sprung together, her nose crinkled confusedly. "Don't you think it's strange that Hogwarts wasn't listed in the directory? I mean, I would have written her."

"I know, dear," Dennis responded, eyes focused on the little brick path in front of them. He contemplated telling her he was tired and wanted to go back to his room above the shop for a rest, but pushed the idea and his resentment out of his mind. They walked back, making their way up to the run down orphanage. When they reached the gate Dennis slowed to a stop. "I'll seeing you later," he said, giving her a quick kiss and walking back up the way they came.

II.

"Aren't they chummy," Amy kidded, watching with Billy through the window as they cleaned the dishes.

"Too chummy if you ask me. There's no way he's not up to something. She should've learned from last time..."

They saw them sit together on the front yard, arguing fervidly with one another about dragon legislature. "Okay, but I mean... Hermione's not stupid. If she trusts him we just have to trust her. Oh, look, they're coming in."

Indeed, Hermione had stood up from their spot under the old oak which, though crooked and leaning, proved to be an excellent source of shade. She took Riddle's arm, pulling with a quiet insistence until he gave in and let her help him to his feet. Together, they walked doggedly up the road and into the scrappy orphanage.

"Hey Hermione. Tom," Amy greeted as they stopped at the side of the kitchen table. Hermione said hello back and Tom did the same. "So what have the two of you been talking about? Anything interesting?"

"Nothing much," Hermione said, smiling, but Amy noticed the secretive look that passed between her and Riddle. "Do you need help with the dishes?"

"Nah, you needn't bother; we're nearly done."

"Alright then," Hermione said and shrugged. She and Riddle left upstairs as Amy finished the dishes.

Putting away the last plate, Amy spoke again. "I'm glad for them. Everybody deserves someone. Everybody deserves a chance."

Billy regarded her wistful admission dismissively. "And you aren't just saying that because of Dennis?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "_No_. I'm being serious, Billy. In fact, I await the day _you _find yourself some pretty little thing to call your own."

Billy sighed. "You're always so ridiculous, Amy. Life has more to offer than a pretty little thing to 'call my own'."

"Well yes," Amy compromised, "But a pretty little thing wouldn't hurt, would it." She winked, then walked away.

Billy sat at the table, tired. He knew Amy was more than likely right but so much had changed in the past few years. He was no longer so obnoxious as he was before. In fact, he had rather mellowed out since then whereas Amy seemed to grow more strident in character. She would chatter on and on about whatever thought flickered into being and he would just listen contentedly.

Sometimes he thought about expressing himself to her, but there was never a right time. Hearing her go on and on while he sat there, mouth sewn shut, made him feel incredibly cut off. Most of all, he felt lonely. But she was still his friend, so he listened attunedly to whenever she complained about Dennis's long hours and how she never got to see him as much as she would like.

Accordingly, it was over a week from when Hermione got back that the much talked about Dennis Bishop dropped in to see Amy. Amy grinned excitedly when she saw him approaching the gates to the orphanage.

"Hermione, it's him! Quick, the door!" Amy said, panicking slightly as she ran to the mirror to do her makeup.

Hermione left the room and went down the steps to let him in as asked. She had just turned the door handle and opened the front door when Amy flew down the stairs behind her, nearly bowling Hermione out of her way.

"Dennis! You came!"

He greeted her with a hug, surveying Hermione from over Amy's shoulder and looking perturbed. He finally recollected himself and drew away. "Well, I told you I would." He ambled awkwardly across the threshold towards Hermione.

"Hermione, this is Denny."

"Dennis," he corrected, quickly, and stuck his hand out hastily for Hermione to shake. "So this is the famous Hermione," he said jovially, "Amy's told me so much about you. It's nice to meet you."

Hermione smiled, shaking his hand. "It's nice to meet you too."

III.

Dennis watched her, eyes narrowed. He had almost sure it had been real - that _that day_ had been real. He would drop by the orphanage nearly twice a week now, just to see if he could catch her unawares. _No_, he thought, watching her turn the page of her book, _perhaps he **had** been imagining things._ That girl - the girl he'd seen doing impossible things - - magic! He had forgotten all about it growing up and then seeing her again - it was like something was being pumped through his veins. He couldn't deny that he'd been the smallest bit disturbed by the reappearance of the curly haired enchantress.

He had already been caught staring once by the Riddle boy as he walked in and saw Dennis lurking in the doorway. He didn't like Riddle. Didn't like his calculating glare and immediately wrote him off as too smart for his own good. You had to be careful around people like that.

It was the fifth time he'd snuck by and he hadn't seen anything off or unusual about Hermione. Perhaps it was a trick of the light watching her make the bluebells obediently blossom then close up timidly again at the opening and closing of her palms.

He mumbled something, steeled himself, then walked into the kitchen where the girl had been reading and enjoying her tea. He had seen wrong that day, _surely_. _And if not- well, that would be another matter entirely._

"Hello," Dennis said, slightly apprehensive, "What're you reading?"

"Just some David Copperfield," Hermione replied, flipping the book over to the cover to reveal the gold inscription on the red hardback. "I've always loved the characters dearly. Dickens is marvelous at making me feel outraged on David's behalf every time I pick through the pages."

Perhaps it had been normalcy of her leisure and carefree reply, but Dennis felt his unease melt away. Could this girl be a witch? _Surely not_. He didn't detect any devilish air around her.

"What?" Hermione asked, somewhat defensively as Dennis continued to stare at her. She was slightly uneasy with the intensity of the inspection she was receiving.

"No, it's nothing. I-" Dennis broke off with a small chuckle, "I've been misled. I got it into my head that you were a- a witch or something."

Hermione tensed, the action going unnoticed by Dennis whose eyes were closed as he shook his head in slight embarrassment. "Why would you think that?" Hermione asked, an awful feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.

"Some stupid reason. It was a long time ago - I was delivering medicines and I heard giggling through the fence and I thought what I saw was magic. You, doing magic."

Hermione hid her troubled expression, something she had probably picked up from Riddle and laughed. "Me? M-magic?!"

"I know," Dennis smiled at her, feeling better at his admission, "Ridiculous, isn't it?"

"Quite," Hermione answered, bringing her tea to her lips to sip, thinking. Neither noticed the figure standing in the hall who had stopped there, running their hand through their hair worriedly before hurrying away out the door.

_Present Time - January 1946_

But she wasn't doing magic anymore. She walked down the aisle and picked up the books that had been left lying about by some wandering children. When she stood she saw him and her face dropped to adopt a cold, sullen look. "What are you doing in my shop?"

"Your shop? I wasn't aware you owned a shop, Granger," Rosier smirked.

Hermione bared her teeth. "I do now. What do you want, anyway? If you're here to ask me if I know where Riddle is, I'm telling you, I don't-"

"That's not why I came by," he said, crossing his arms. "I wanted to let you know that he's coming back." Hermione looked affronted and Rosier explained, "I just wanted to know if you had felt it. The pull." Hermione flinched, playing with the sleeve of her left arm where the mark used to be. It had been a pain to remove.

"No. No I haven't. And if I had, it still doesn't give you the right to come in here."

Rosier looked pissed off. "I was just trying to-"

"Help?" Hermione snarled. "We're _not_ friends, Rosier. And I don't need you running back every time there's some small whiff of information on Riddle. I could care less about where he's run off to or what he's been doing."

"Doesn't sound like you don't care."

The depressions under her eyes became apparent as she let her tiredness catch up to her. Even Rosier could admit, she looked dreadful, as if the year had been too long, too hard. It was a pain that she carried in her shoulders and the defiance that wore thin on her face. And then she snapped back against it all and resumed holding herself up under the _grit_ and _press_ of it all.

"I don't."

And with that, she pushed past Rosier and disappeared into the back of the shop.

IV.

Billy walked down the streets, his hands bundled up into fists in his pockets. He had just seen Hermione in the kitchen with Dennis and he felt sick. Why was he around so often nowadays?

V.

"Hermione!" Abby called from the counter where she worked the register. "I need your help. It's urgent!"

"What is it?" came Hermione's reply as she poked her head out from the back where she had been unpackaging the new shipment.

"Here," Abby said, handing her a book, "A customer just came in, told me to give you this."

Hermione sighed. Abby was a new hire that tended to exaggerate often and chat constantly to the costumers. She took the book and with a casual glance at the cover froze. _Pentamerone_. She narrowed her eyes with half a mind to throw it in the trash. She wouldn't play these games anymore. She had quit this; quit the Knights. After two years of believing Riddle, of trusting him, of performing dark curses and sinister enchantments and then being _left_ by him for the second time she couldn't believe he had the nerve to come back. She had given everything to him, even her morals. She had hurt others - people who didn't deserve it. All because Riddle had promised that the suffering of a few would be for the triumph of the many. She had been so stupid. So, so stupid.

She jerked open the drawer to her desk and threw the book inside before slamming it closed. She wouldn't let him get back at her. He wasn't allowed to do that anymore.

_Two Years Earlier_

"You're not allowed to do that!" Hermione laughed as Riddle feathered her neck with kisses to distract her from her book. Gulls flew overhead, their guttural cries sweetened and muffled by the overhang of mist. Still, it was a hot day and Mrs. Cole had decided to take the children on a day trip to the beach, the refreshing spray of sea catching them every now and again.

"But I have something to show you."

Hermione kept on reading, ignoring the boy who was trying to persuade her into giving up her book. Riddle continued, undeterred. "It's something I've never shown anyone else before. I've kept it secret all these years, even from you."

Hermione kept her eye on the page but Tom could tell she was hardly paying attention to it. Finally she looked up to stare back at Riddle. "You're deplorable," Hermione said after a few seconds, closing her book with a thud. They got up, book in hand, and walked up the hill to the secluded side of the beach where the waves struck relentlessly against the jagged cliffs.

"Denny! Come on in! The water's just right!" Amy yelled from the shallow water. Lips pressed together, he battled the urge to spit out his reply. _He hated it when she called him that._

"No thanks, honey. I think I'm going to go up a ways into the village for a drink. I'll be back later." And he left before he could hear her pout and whine for him to stay, pursuing the figures who had already reached the top of the hill. Something told him he had to keep an eye on that Riddle.

"Where are you taking me?" Hermione asked, "You're not going to push me to my death, are you?"

"Just take my hand and follow along or I'll be so inclined. This way."

Hermione blinked. "Are you crazy? We shouldn't even be up _this far_."

"Don't worry. It's only a magic trick," Riddle murmured to her, "It only looks impossible to deter the muggles from going down. It's still dangerous, though, so hold on to me." And she did, head pressed into his back as she gripped his shirt from behind, not trusting herself to look down.

Finally, they had reached the bottom, standing before the cave that stretched into darkness. "Are you sure about this?"

"Scared?"

"Ha!" she scoffed, but Riddle could detect the faint quiver in her voice. The chill of the caves amplified by the sprinkle of cool water brought a slight chattering of her teeth, the sound of which clacked through the rocky enclave that surrounded them as they entered.

"Don't be afraid. Just let your eyes adjust to it," he told her. She stared into the blank blackness for some time before she let out a startled gasp. Riddle spoke for her. "Isn't it beautiful? It reminds me of the ceiling in the Great Hall. The crystals on the walls of the cavern catch the subtle light from the water."

The waves pushed in, causing ripples in the water and disturbing the light's reflection to create the illusion of twinkling stars on the cave walls. And suddenly, Riddle stepped away, slipping his hand from hers. "Riddle!" she called, annoyed. While the little light that shined from the cave walls had eased her mind, her eyes couldn't find Riddle in the dark. Frustrated, she stepped forward. "Where-"

"Here," he said softly, meeting her lips with his. He encircled her and she welcomed the warmth of his skin, running her hand up around his neck and into his hair. He sunk back against the glistening rock, pulling her up unto him as he bruised her with feverish kisses. "Was this your plan all along? Bring me down here to seduce me? Wi-icked witch," he stuttered as Hermione rolled her hips just so and his breath hitched. "Fuck. I-" He almost told her that he loved her but he just kissed her instead and hoped that she'd understand some day.

VI.

She slowly pulled open the drawer and stared at the book. Whatever he touched turned to shit. Her left arm twitched and she felt the tears in her blood-shot eyes brim over in self loathing. She couldn't stop herself from picking up the book she had left locked out of sight. And now she had flipped open the book, rifling through it and looking for his messy scrawl. Her heart nearly stopped when she caught sight of where his pen had bled ink. '_Is that all he has to say to me after all this time?_' she thought, chastising his pathetic attempt at a lie.

_Hermione. I'm sorry. I love you still_

Without a second thought she flung the tome across the room, choking back emotion and all the despised thoughts that threatened to screw over her ever-waking resolution to put him from her mind.

_Two Years Earlier_

Dennis walked back down to the beach, offering a reproachful look over his shoulder at the cliffs where Tom and Hermione had disappeared. He hadn't seen their bodies on the rocks below and assumed they had managed to give him the slip. He no longer had any suspicions of Hermione, but the couple's incessant whispers had piqued his interests. Riddle was hiding _something. _And somehow, Hermione was caught up in it.

"You were following them," a voice spoke from behind. Billy whipped around.

"Oh. It's you," Dennis spat.

"What is it that you want from Hermione?" Billy asked, defensively.

"I don't think that's any of your business, Billy-boy," Dennis said, snidely, "As I recall we had a certain deal in place. One in which you keep your mouth shut and I keep your little secret."

Billy blushed red, but didn't say anything else. He would kill that bastard. Dennis could see the thought flash before Billy's eyes but he just chuckled and walked off towards Amy. She was playing with some of the younger children, pulling them about in the water. She was very pretty in this moment, laughing and smiling as the children shrieked excitedly. She would make a good wife and once she had had a child or two she would be more manageable, Dennis supposed. And still…

He still felt pissed whenever he saw Hermione with Riddle. Something wasn't right about him and he couldn't understand what she'd be doing with the boy. He had once mentioned Riddle to Amy and she had told of how he used to be a strange boy and had frightened the rest of the children but how he had done his bit of growing up and wasn't half bad now. How Riddle had fooled them all… but most of all _her_. Hermione. He searched for an answer, watching the tide roll in against the sand. And then it all clicked.

VII.

The morning had been a perfect one, Dennis thought as he sipped his tea. Upstairs, Riddle lay in his bed, eyes fluttering as he struggled to break his fever. Dennis tapped his fingers against the table as he heard people coming down from the stairway.

"How's he doing?" Dennis asked, standing up, worry cast over his face.

"Not too great. I'm not sure when he got so bad. He was coughing all week but I didn't think it was anything serious. And then this morning when he didn't come to breakfast-" Hermione explained with a tremble.

"Hey, it's okay," Dennis said, wrapping an arm around her and bringing her into a hug. "I'll stay for a while. I know quite a bit about medicines. Perhaps I can help bring the fever down."

Later that day, Dennis sat by Riddle's bed, using a damp wash cloth to wipe away the sweat that had dripped down Riddle's forehead. At the touch Riddle protested, half-conscious and flinching away.

"Shhh," Dennis whispered, "There's nothing you can do. I know what you are. I know what you're been doing to Hermione. Fighting it will only make it worse, so just sleep."

Meanwhile, Billy watched a restless Hermione pulling weeds in the garden. He knew Dennis was somehow behind it all and the guilt of not saying anything pressed down on his shoulders so that they sagged. Furthermore, what would he tell Amy? He couldn't just- couldn't just _accuse_ Dennis without any real proof. He had done enough of that with Riddle and he had thought _he _had been bad (which was not to say he was completely convinced that he wasn't). Still, he couldn't help but feel like Riddle had been poisoned.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Amy.

"She's really taking this hard, isn't she?" Amy sighed. She caught sight of Billy's face and her eyes widened. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I-" Billy started before pausing, the hesitation deepening his resolve. _I have no other choice_. He let his tears fall onto the counter as he began to confess all of his suspicions.

VIII.

_Present Time - January 1946_

Hermione twisted her fork, winding the spaghetti around it. She tried to pay attention to what Gilderoy was saying, but found herself losing interest with every gloating word. He had gone to school with her and had been in the same year, though they had never spoke. Now, she suffered in silence as he continued to prattle on about the time he fought off a gaggle of ghouls on a vacation in Prague once. Hermione wondered how he had ever been sorted into Ravenclaw and took a bite of her food, cursing Lavender for setting her up with him.

After what seemed like an hour, the waiter came by with the bill and Hermione was able to excuse herself, trying to smile as Lockhart suggested they do this again next week.

_It was useless_, she thought as she finally got home, slinging her bag on the couch and walking past the living room to go change out of her dress. _This whole idea was pointless_. She peeled the dress off her body and pulled a white cotton shirt over her head, digging in her drawer for some shorts.

The worst thing of all was knowing that he was back and not knowing when he was going to suddenly appear before her. She dreaded it, but still couldn't help cast her eyes about wherever she went, expecting her eyes to suddenly catch his staring back at her. And, thinking of him, she fell asleep.

_"Hermione," he breathed, running his hand up her skirt. "We should be getting to class." He didn't stop, however, lightly running his thumb in circles against her thigh. "What would the professor think?"_

_ "Tom," she said between the kisses he planted on her lips, "I thought- wait.. where are we?" She cast her eyes about, trying to recognize the room they were in and only meeting darkness._

_ He caressed her face with his hand, turning it back to face him and kissing her once more. "Hermione," he said, moving deftly between her legs, bodies flush against one another. "I'm sorry... I love you still."_

_ She froze, the words sounding so familiar, and then flinched away. She could see more clearly now and panicked, she stumbled along the stone tiles in recognition. The Chamber._

_ "Hermione," his voice echoed teasingly against the pilasters that stood resolutely, holding the ceiling up above them. "I'm sorry." And then even harsher than before, "I love you still."_

_ She ran into a side-tunnel; one of the great pipes that hid the chamber's secret. She kept going, rounding the edge of the intersection of pipes, her footsteps splashing against the wet floors. And then she saw those eyes, those red, horrible eyes and that was it. She woke up._

She poured herself a coffee, standing in her kitchen and letting the minutes roll by. She had no plans of going back to sleep tonight. _Fuck_. Things had gotten so terribly messed up. He had nearly died that summer and upon waking he'd decided never to come so close to it again. She hadn't known then how it would end - how everything would just slowly fall apart. He had promised her the world, an eternity of living. With an infinite amount of time on their hands they could make the world right. They could make the world better. Really, it was just the twisted dream of a scared boy.. To feel so powerless that he couldn't breathe unless he possessed more, controlled more.. And she should have seen it.

She put on her clothes, leaving her flat and walking down to the little bus stop that would bring her closer to the center of town. Amy had stopped speaking to them. Discredited under the pretenses that Hermione was being _possessed_ by Riddle or some nonsense along those lines and the admission of Billy being gay, Hermione didn't blame her for making the worst decision in her life. It would have been the easier choice for anyone in that situation. She remembered Dennis's scandalized face as he reprimanded Hermione for not being grateful of his help. Amy married him the next year and needless to say neither Hermione nor Billy had been invited to the wedding.

When she got there, the bus hadn't arrived yet, so, pulling the book out of her bag, she flipped back to the pages where, neatly scrawled, were the words that taunted her in her dreams. And, when she looked back up, she saw those eyes staring at her, no longer red. Instead, they looked back at her, black, glistening, and sad.

(A/N) Alright well that was kind of an incredibly long wait. I kept on changing things and it just never got done. I said this was a three parter and this IS sort of the end but I'm kind of thinking I might do an epilogue and not have it end on a total cliff hanger - like a reprise of sorts. NO PROMISES THOUGH. I'm bad at following through 99% of the time I'm surprised I made it this far.


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